The Pyro and the Land of Illusion
by Tintrue
Summary: The Pyro ends up in Gensokyo, meeting the usual cast along the way.
1. Setting and Introduction

**Hey there. I'd like to thank all of you who have read this, it means a lot to me. Since the horrifying aspects of life have been getting to me, it may be a while until chapter two comes around. I will say that the next chapter is where the story will kick off, and chapter three will be the first glimpses of Gensokyo. For now, enjoy chapter one and I hope you enjoy it.**

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><p>It was a typically hot day in the less than idyllic setting of Teufort. Barren dirt roads and the odd abandoned shed was the only scenery for miles around. Teufort did have its community with a small town somewhere, but for the most part, there was mostly dirt, that and more dirt. This was the setting for a most peculiar line of work, guaranteed to keep anyone busy. However, this isn't your simple typing on a computer or filing a document kind of work. This was the kind that involved a little more action than that.<p>

Right in the middle of this patch of nowhere, two structures towered over the sandy plain, each very different to each other. The first one on the left was a wooden structure, clearly hand built and showing the sands of time doing their job. The planks it was made from displayed their age, battered by the winds that were common on these kinds of harsh terrain. The vastly outnumbered bricks that were overshadowed by the said wooden areas also look worse for wear, thanks to the efforts of time. It was notable to say that the building also had a warm shade of red to its materials which all worked together to make a defiant version of the colour. Despite its age, the building that a certain team of men would call their base was still standing strong. Across the right was another structure, which sported a vast familiarity to its sister structure on the other side. This one was instead more man made, as it refused the old timey feel that the other building gave off and went with the approach of refined bricks and run of the mill steel. Age was of no concern to this structure, as the tough exterior wore off any damage the local terrain had to throw at it. There were a few dents here and there, but overall it was in far better shape than the opposite building had to show for itself. As the last comparable touch, this structure too had a colour assigned to it. The new age bricks and hardened metal came together to instead make a cool blue, matching the materials that made the building what it was. The two large structures were surrounded by a vast chain link fence, not around the whole area but enough so there was a fair amount of space caught in the middle of it. The remains of a clean water sewage system was also stuck in the said space, kept grouped up by a tall makeshift no way out dam, Underneath a bridge which was the only way to access the two sister buildings without taking a trip to the underground path where the water resided. These strange elements and settings all came together to make for the working environment for the two rival teams, each very alike but very different in many ways.

Despite the sun being high in the sky and the temperature starting to rise, it was early in the morning and nowhere near time to get up. Light seeped through the closed curtains of a wooden bunk house, making golden slits on the floor and walls. This bunk house was the living arrangements for the 9 people that took on this challenging job, all but one sleeping soundly in their simple singular beds. They were an odd sort, sizes ranging from tall and slim to large and wide. A collection of snores and sounds travelled round the bunk house, like a strange orchestra of the human voice box. As the majority of the sleeping figures rested in their beds, a lone person lumbered out of his oddly clean and organised living quarters. The figure trudged over to the single bathroom that the men shared in the bunkhouse, turning on a single light bulb that covered the room in a dull but useful glow. The rest of the bunk house was slightly coated in this light, phasing out the previous lights of the outside and replacing them with a faint amber glow from the light source in the bathroom. The figure went to the mirror and looked at the image before him.

A black gasmask was staring him in the face. Very shapely for a good fit, it had two cylinders for breathing through on it, one at the front and one at the left hand side. Two large, tinted eyeholes were near the top of the mask. The only means of seeing through, they were the darkest of blacks, not a trace of life could be seen in them, only a reflection of the world around them. The figure rubbed the top of his head, making an odd squeaking sound as the gloves he wore made hard contact with the gasmask. Looking downwards, he saw a red full body suit, adorned with black straps and suspenders that held the suit in place. This suit was one big double edged sword, as it had incredible fire retardant qualities at the cost of being coated with deadly asbestos on the inside, a feature which made breathing in the suit less than pleasurable. The wearer had gotten used to the substance; he was willing to take such a risk so he could wear such a useful suit. Looking at the last few details, he spied a pair of thick grey gloves with matching grey boots which he wore to compliment his suit and its abilities. The front of his suit had three identical cylinders, incendiary grenades which he never used but carried anyway. The back of the suit harboured a bulky tank, complete with pressure and limit gauge. It was filled with oxygen, whenever the asbestos started to get to him; he gave a quick puff of O to get himself going again. Lastly, he gazed at his shoulders; both bore an orange symbol of fire, there to represent his role in the team of 9 he was a part of. After a quick gathering of his bearings, the suited man turned the bathroom light off and headed out towards the outside of the barracks he called home.

This odd person was simply called Pyro (Or "The Pyro" if you want to be fancy). In this team of 9 men whom all worked together on a daily basis, he was the one surrounded by the most mystery and intrigue. All the men had parts of their history which would be fantastic to find out, but none of them held to candle to the secrets that surrounded the Pyro, the largest of these questions being "What is he?" Some even went as far to ask "What is she?" Some did think that the Pyro was a woman, wearing the suit to conceal her goddess-like looks from the men. Others thought he had been in a horrible accident, covered in sickening scars and disfigurements that the suit and mask was the only way to still be accepted in society. Theories ranged from robots, aliens, time travellers, ESPers, demons, gods, even Abraham Lincoln. Only one thing aside from his name was known for sure.

The Pyro loves fire.


	2. More Introductions

Wandering outside to a hollowed out barn, the Pyro took notice of a large box and opened it to reveal his pride and joy, his trusty flamethrower. Shifting through his other pet projects and the odd intergalactic weapon from another dimension, he picked up the long metallic device and hugged it lovingly.

Conjured a good few years ago, this flamethrower had a very special place nestled in the heart of the pyromaniac. Made from spare parts like a gas pump, a propane tank and a pole, the gasmask-clad man had burned many a foe with his homemade beauty, always keeping it as close to him as possible. In the past, he used to sleep with it, caressing the long instrument of pain like a mother does with a child. This was soon put to a stop as a certain black Scottish man's scrumpy bottle decided to become acquainted with the flamethrower one night and if you have any knowledge of what's flammable and what isn't, then you'll know that didn't end too well. A month repairing a bunk house and a large pay reduction for the Pyro and the Scotsman were the fruits of the bottle's events with the flame spewing device. Though he had to stop sharing his bed with his treasured weapon, he kept it tucked away safely in a box with all his other prized belongings and began to always get up early to greet his long time partner with a good morning.

Gathering up his other preferred weapons for the day, that being a nasty looking axe that sported bloodstains and barbed wire, and a run of the mill flare gun that he "borrowed" from a scoutmaster, the Pyro went back to the bunk house to wait for his comrades so they could start their days work. Upon returning, he came back to notice that his fellow workers were indeed up and early for a change, a little more convenient to the usual routine of lying in for an hour more before getting scaled by the old short tempered woman who spends her days examining their line of work to keep them up to speed with what they and their rivals were doing.

A slender man with a pinstripe suit and a balaclava adjusted his tie before collecting his tools of the trade. This man gave the Pyro a hard time as his preferred approach to combat tended to interfere with his own. Then again, he gave everyone a hard time. With a knife, a revolver, a square device known as a sapper, and a simple yet fancy watch, he merely glanced at his fire loving teammate and walked off.

The next was a tall, smart man. Wearing a long white lab coat along with a pair of gloves and pants, he certainly looked out of place for such a line of work. Little to most people is that this man has a dark side to him, darker that any side of any moon. Throughout his daily grind he holds back his murderous ambitions and crazy ideas, keeping his less than sane side of him at bay so he can go along with his services without stealing any foreign organs. Looking at the Pyro, he gave him a quick nod before going out the house without a word.

Past him was a man of similar shape. Sporting a simple t-shirt and jacket combo with a basic hat, he rubbed his face and added a pair of reflective brown glasses to his eyes. He was one of the more level headed of the team, rationalising his line of work, thinking his plans for the day through over in his head. Only thing was he wasn't a talker. Spending most of his days in prolonged isolation and less than good relationship with his parents, he had a tendency to keep to himself. He too gave a nod to his pyromaniac partner before heading away.

Then there was a great, wide figure. Easily taller than the Pyro, this man was pure, raw power. Along with body armour and his trademark bullet belt, he carried around a ridiculously large minigun that no regular man could even dream of carrying. Simple minded but still extremely deadly, he gave the Pyro a happy and charming wave with his big bulky hand, something you'd never expect someone like him to do. Slowly but surely, he went along his way.

After him was a man we've already heard of. Dark skinned, eyepatch, body armour, bombs, he was a real character. Native to Scotland, he was versed in all things that go boom. His key trait is that he could really hold his liquor. Never without a bottle of his favourite scrumpy from the north of the United Kingdom, he always takes good hard swigs of it before battles and would still be as productive as if he was sober. Belching loudly, he gave the Pyro a long hug and staggered out of the bunk house.

Following him was a different kind of bulky man. Wearing worn army fatigues complete with grenades, he always wore a frightful scowl and a large grey helmet that blocked his vision. He was also the real epitome of a one man army, having fought in countless battles and never saying never even after the deed was done all for the sake of his homeland known as the US of A. He gave the Pyro a sharp salute before marching onwards.

After there was a young, thin man that was only rivalled by the pinstripe suited man in terms of size. With his baseball bat and holster for it, headpiece and cap combo, along with dog tags and a smug little grin, this man (Or should I say boy?) was out to prove something. Always brash and sometimes witty, he was well known for being the fastest out of all the team and being able to do things like no other, including double jumping and bending his legs beyond human limits. He didn't even stop to look at the pyromaniac as he rushed out the door.

There was one last member. The most level headed of the team, he wore overalls along with goggles and a hardhat. Aside from the lab coat wearing man, he was also one of the smartest of the team. Spending countless months and years studying science and engineering has earned him 11 PhDs. With this knowledge he constructed mind blowing devices such as a upgradable turret, a health and ammunition storage, and a full functional teleporter, just to name a few. Giving his gasmask wearing companion a hearty handshake, he walked out the house along with a toolbox.

Prepping his weapons and making sure no one had left anything of importance, the Pyro made his way out the door to start his line of work. Before he did, he quickly glanced back, and then gave his flamethrower a second look. He didn't know why, but he felt like something was going to go down today. Shrugging it off, he closed the door behind him.


	3. Getting Somewhere

The unlikely team of 9 made their way to their battle stations across the identifiably red building. Heading into the "Respawn" room to collect whatever loose bits and bobs they may need for the working (And fighting) day, soon rushing out to be prepared. All except the gasmask man. He stayed up in the white washed room, making tweaks to his trusty flamethrower. Every screw, every bolt, every piece that wasn't nailed down was being tightened and double checked for any kind of flaw that may affect it. He didn't know why, but the Pyro had a feeling deep inside him that something was going to go down, and the only thing he could think of was his weapon of choice. It had been a problem in the past, the worst case being where it blew up in his face, taking the life of him and the lab coat wearing man who was unfortunate enough to be tending to his injuries at the time. Well after the match had begun, the Pyro stayed in the "Respawn" room, not budging.

Meanwhile, the hardhat wearing man heaved a huge toolbox, much larger than the one he had earlier, up the stairs towards the "Respawn" room. Despite his remarkable upper body strength, this box was proving to be a real challenge, making beads of sweat trickle down his rough face and stubble. Eventually, he made it up the stairs and almost dropped the toolbox down onto the wooden floor below. After his release of the box, it sprung open immediately, revealing a large metallic structure that twirled and unfurled itself like a piece of paper, new crumpled. The device soon came full circle in its metamorphosis, turning itself into a large swirling machine, imbued with a glowing red aura that turned with the spinning of the machine.

This was the teleporter, one of the many devices that our hardhatted friend had made over his many years of engineering. As long as there was an entrance and an exit available, this machine could take anyone who stepped on the entrance straight to the exit with nothing more but a quick scramble of their very being before quickly forming them again. It was extremely useful, with many an outcome to a dispute hinging on whether a teleporter was ready and working at the time to assist the team. Yes, it was a marvel, but the overall wearing inventor thought it could be more…

This teleporter, in particular, was different and completely new. Larger and more sturdy, this might machine was a new fangled idea that had been in the hardhatted man's head for quite some time now, Spending an absurd amount of his free time working on this contraption, today was the day he could finally try it out during work hours. If this was a success, their team would be the dominant victors to many a match to come. The overall wearer beamed at the thought of it in his head, and soon bolted back down the stairs to make a few more adjustments to the identical exit he had set up earlier. He wanted to make sure this new teleporter was without a single hitch or flaw.

The Pyro finally came to decision that his weapons were by no means a threat to him. He gave a (Struggled) breath of relief as his strange, negative feeling in his gut finally faded away; glad to know it was just a false alarm of his sub-conscious. Stepping outside of the "Respawn" room, he made his way over to the teleporter that lay before him. These were old news to him, having travelled through them many times before. He would admit, the first time was absolutely nerve-wracking, having such a odd feeling pulsing though his whole body, so much so that he had to make a trip back to the bunkhouse in order to replace his suit and gasmask, which had been coated with a less than appealing coating of vomit from himself. The feeling soon became natural, and he gladly travelled through the glowing mechanism, to the point of it being a routine. He examined the device and noticed it was unlike any other, but he soon dismissed it as anything of interest as he and the rest of the team knew of his overall wearing companions' plans and ideas for a new teleporter. Without a single worry, he stepped on the device and felt his entire body torn into single pieces of atom, making their way to the destination.

The hardhatted man packed away his array of tools as he finished off the finishing touches to his teleporter exit. Quickly smiling and taking pride in his work, he noticed a quick spark in the corner of his goggles. Turning his attention back to the device, he looked onwards as his expression went from happiness to horror. The device he has worked so hard on was letting sparks fly with reckless abandon, before eventually setting ablaze. He lurched back to avoid the flames, the blaze getting brighter and brighter until his vision was blocked by a large bright light.

Eyes, hundreds of them. Bright, golden and staring, all eyes on the Pyro. The purple background warped and pulsated. All he could do was sit and scream. Then, a hard thud and it was over.

The hardhatted man got up and rubbed his temples with his hands, collecting his surroundings. He examined and noticed he was still at the very spot he was before; though he felt the same feeling he did when going through a teleporter. There was a large, scorched piece of land where his teleporter exit used to be, nothing more than scrap metal now. He heard the footsteps of his comrades heading in his direction, clearly wondering what the bright flash was. When they arrived, they noticed their overall wearing teammate, but something else. Something in the scorched area. Something alive.

There was a woman. A tall, blonde woman sprawled across the floor. She seemed to wear a clear, white dress, a large portion of the dress decorated with a purple section, sporting various patterns and ribbons too. She was also wearing a white mob cap, also with an accessory in the form of a thin red bow. She seemed to have a parasol too, light pink and of elaborate design. Along side her were two odd looking people, both of them had ears and tails almost akin to those of a fox and a cat, also sporting similarly designed dresses and mob caps, The colours were a full spectrum, ranging from red, to blue, to green. One thing they eventually noticed as well;

There was a lot of blood.


	4. Finally There

Falling, that was all that was right now. The gaskmasked man felt himself plummeting into a perpetual nothing for so long it was common place for him now. The eyes were all he saw and he soon grew weary of their stare, simply glaring at them with boredom. He almost felt like drifting off to sleep…..

His rest was interrupted with hard contact with a solid surface, or so he thought. After hitting the "Ground", our suit-clad fellow found himself sinking into the "Ground", becoming enveloped in its being. After trying to comprehend what was going on, he eventually found out where the hell he was.

Water. He HATED water.

The way it felt. How it worked. What it did to fire. Everything about water, the Pyro disliked. Why did it have to be that way? Why should it affect fire? Why must it be so annoying? Why, why, why. He could go on for hours about how terrible water was. But, now was not the time to complain, he could do that when he got out of his least favourite liquid.

Grabbing his weapons, which he had strived to make a water resistant as possible, the Pyro quickly stroked his way through the murky deep. Left arm, right arm, left arm, right arm, onwards with the strokes. For someone who hated water, the gasmasked fellow did a fairly decent job of swimming. For one, it was a requirement for his job at the company he had pledged his services for. He spent many weeks learning to swim, thought it could have been shortened to a few days if he had conquered his fears earlier. His train of thought stopped as he reached his favourite part of any area of water, the edge.

Hoisting himself out, the Pyro moved his axe and grabbed his trusty flamethrower. The suit man opened a zipper on his trousers and pulled out a lighter. He mostly used this for messing around when bored, but if the situation required it, he would use the lighter for an important matter. This was a fine example, as the torch on his flamethrower had been put out by the waters. Without the torch, he would simply be shooting gas if he pulled the trigger. It needed to be relit. He carefully put the now open lighter towards the flamethrower, and flicked the lighter on. In an instant, both lights on the lighter and the flamethrower shone brightly, the twin fires a joy for the mercenary to see. As he was about to settle his possessions once more, he stopped at the scenery around him for the first time since his strange event.

The sky was bright blue, just like his workplace, but there were clouds, light and fluffy like they should be. Clouds weren't too common in the desert, but when he saw one, he would make out the shapes it would make before it moved out of his view. His eyes moved down. Around him, was vast woodland, teeming with trees of all shapes and sizes. Greenery as far as his eyes could see, a rare sight for him due to his locations. Just looking at his feet, he saw many different flowers that were completely foreign to him. Then, he looked at where he had landed. He noticed an immense lake, one of the largest he'd ever seen, right before him. He was glad he landed so close to the bank of the lake, or else it would have been a nightmare for him to make it out. A veil of mist surrounded the lake, coating it in a perpetual grey shade that diminished the lake's beauty. Through the thick grey mists, he could make out some kind of building on a lone island, very large and seeming a rich red colour. He took a very fond liking towards the house for obvious reasons. He actually wished he could've landed nearer to the island in the lake, just so he could've seen the house better! But, he accepted where he was and finished his take of the scenery.

The Pyro almost left before he noticed something on the ground in the corner of his mask. Turning back, he kneeled down to take a look at what he saw. He was looking a frog, nothing special about the frog itself, but what happened to it, the frog seemed to be encased in a solid block of ice, perfectly formed in the shape of a square. The suit clad man couldn't help but think how or what could have done this, as well as what the poor frog must think. Then he got an idea. He grabbed his flamethrower, and carefully positioned it above the iced frog in hopes of melting the ice and freeing the amphibian inside. The gasmaked fellow look onwards in anticipation of his plan, hoping for a good result.

A good half an hour later, the ice block was finally gone. The Pyro moved his flamethrower out of the way so to not harm the frog and then looked eagerly at his results. The frog was completely fine, much to his joy, with not a single mark on the creature. Without acknowledging his saviour, the frog happily hopped back into the lake which his hero had falling into. Happy with his work, the Pyro gathered his weapons, as so to move on and find out where on earth he had wound up. Or so he hoped.

He found himself blocked by something. Nothing seemed to be there from his regular view, but looking downwards, he saw what the problem was. In his way, was a girl. She was quite odd, looking no older than ten years and with a displeased look on her face. Heck, her face was odd as well. Round, bulbous eyes with an angry glare was looking upwards at the suit fellow. Her eyes were light blue, with her irises taking up her eye almost entirely. Her mouth and nose in comparison were tiny, almost unnoticeable, nothing more than thin black lines. Like her eyes, her mouth was also in a less than pleased look. Then, there was her hair. Short and messy, it was also light blue, with the many different flicks around her hair swaying in the light breeze. Her clothing was a short dress, this time a dark blue colour along with a red ribbon at the neck area and a white pattern at the bottom. She had no shoes or socks, as far as he knew; the dress was her only piece of clothing. Lastly, he noticed 6 strange thin crystals behind her, not connected in any way, but positioned in a way that gave the impression they were wings. This was an odd girl indeed.

She took no time to show her anger. In an instant, she began shouting and making wild arm movements, clearly frustrated about the Pyro's recent frog saving. However, the gasmasked man then noticed something: He couldn't understand a work she was saying. Her language was obviously foreign, but he couldn't put his finger on what it was exactly. The way it was going, it sounded oriental, with his best bet being Chinese or Japanese. He didn't think too much about it, as there was not much he could do with his gas mask doing a good job to restrict communication regardless of language.

Meanwhile in the middle of her rage, the small girl stepped on a thistle and fell to the ground, doing he best job to nurse her injured foot. The Pyro took this as an opportunity to leave, as he was certain this girl wasn't nice company and was unsure on why she was even out here by herself. Not wanting to ask questions, he grabbed his belongings and made a swift getaway into the vast forest he noticed earlier. He had no idea where he was going, but it was his best bet in his opinion.


End file.
